Data, data, data
by BarricadeBoy221B
Summary: John spends an evening with Sherlock and things take an unexpected turn. Teen!Johnlock, fluff. Just a one shot I wrote a while ago.


Bored - SH

And I'm busy. JW

Doing what? – SH

Come on, John. Come over – SH

I'm going to go mad – SH

On a date, maybe? JW

Come over when you're done. – SH

Yeah, sure. JW

Who is it this time? The brunette with the eyebrows? – SH

Caitlyn was weeks ago, Sherlock. Her name's Shay. JW

How's it going? – SH

You're still texting me, so maybe not so good – SH

She's talking a lot. But it's fine. She's fine. JW

And you're not listening to her; at least she's not observant or you'd be ruining your chances for later – SH

It's all right. I've got my foot on hers under the table. JW

Oh please spare me the details – SH

What? It's just a little footsie. JW

How is that desirable? Anyone can rub their feet against someone else's. – SH

Clearly you've never done it. JW

Obvious - SH

Why would I want to? – SH

It feels good. JW

How? – SH

I dunno, it's exciting. I imagine I'm touching her somewhere else with something else. JW

Details, John… - SH

No! That's not how I meant it…Christ. JW

How else could you have meant it? – SH

Like, rubbing her shoulders, holding her hand. Shagging is a bonus, not an expectant thing. JW

And yet you will expect it, eventually - SH

Makes things so complicated.. – SH

Well, yeah. Eventually. And it doesn't really. JW

Yes, it does – SH

How would you know? JW

Very funny - SH

It's not a difficult deduction, John - SH

I know better than you do. JW

I doubt it - SH

How many relationships have you had which have ended prematurely A.) Because one of you wouldn't 'put out', or B.) Because you both did and it was crap? - SH

I would tell you, but I doubt you need the reminder – SH

We're in school, Sherlock. This sort of thing isn't meant to last forever. JW

Then why bother until you know it can – SH

Because it's fun. JW

So I've heard – SH

She's still talking I presume? About..let me guess…her mother? – SH

Her ex-boyfriend. JW

That was my second guess – SH

Lovely. Oh well. JW

Oh well, what? – SH

This whole dinner might be pointless. JW

Oh? – SH

If she's not over him, I'm not going to ask her to…you know. JW

Have sex? - SH

A wise decision - SH

Yeah. JW

So you're coming over earlier then? Good – SH

And that's all that matters. JW

No, not necessarily – SH

But unlike her, I won't waste your time – SH

You always waste my time, Sherlock. JW

No, I don't - SH

When do I? - SH

You never object to spending time with me, so you've either just been humouring me this entire time, or you know I'm right – SH

I like when you waste my time. But you do waste my time. JW

Is it a waste if you enjoy it..? – SH

Make me feel like an arse. A stupid one at that, which is not true. JW

I don't mean to – SH

Yes you do. Yeah, I'll be over in a few. Just walking Shay home. JW

Fine. I'll leave the door unlocked – SH

Okay. JW

Putting his phone away, Sherlock picked up his violin, playing random notes from his place on the couch, waiting for John to get there. A little over thirty minutes later, and John arrived at the Holmes residence, out of breath. Sometimes, not having a car was shite.

"Hey," he said, closing and locking the door behind him.

"I don't, you know" Sherlock replied coolly, not bothering with pleasantries. Rolling his eyes and hanging up his coat, John turned over his shoulder. "You don't what?"

"Waste your time" Sitting up suddenly, he placed his violin carefully back in its case. "I never do, not on purpose"

John just sighed, and crossed over to sit on the sofa next to Sherlock, resting back into the cushions.

"I didn't mean it like it was bad, mate. It's fine."

"When is wasting anything ever good…" he muttered in response, sinking back so far he's nearly horizontal. After a pause, he added; "…So…bit not good then? The date?"

"Nah," John shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "She was sweet. Gave me a right good kiss good-night. I'm happy with that."

Sherlock had to practically restrain himself from rolling his eyes at that. "Well, I'm glad."

"Yeah, so am I. Pity she's still hung up over Matt. She's a fantastic snogger."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure…" all of a sudden, Sherlock was on his feet, pacing. "We need something to do - I need something…"

"What? It's late, relax." Once Sherlock got up, John took over the whole sofa, resting his head on his hands. However, this seemed to escape Sherlock's notice at first. "I'm aware that it's 'late' - that doesn't mean I can't be bored senseless"

"Well what do you want to do?" John asked, watching Sherlock pace.

"I don't know-! That's why you're here, John. Obvious."

John shifted onto his side, his head propped up in his hands. "We both know what I'd prefer to be doing. Otherwise, I'm content with watching telly for the rest of the night." He shot a grimace towards the TV, but to be honest, what else was there to do?

"...Fine...You know how it works." He waits for John to move to get the remote, before stealing his seat back. John grumbled, but still scooted his feet up to make room for Sherlock. Flipping on the telly, he turned it to something mind numbingly interesting. Sherlock didn't recognize the show, not that that particularly bothered him Occasionally, he glanced over at his friend. He knew it was 'selfish' - being glad he was here with him instead of with 'Shay the amazing snogger', but he didn't regret asking him over. It had only been on a few minutes, but already Johns eyes were starting to feel heavy. As much as he enjoyed crap late night telly, if he was going to stay awake, he'd have to find something edgy. Flipping a few channels, he finally came across a thriller film. Bunching his toes together, he pressed his feet against Sherlock's thigh in anticipation. Smiling quietly to himself, Sherlock finally made his first commentary of the evening; "The man in the grey suit; he's the one they should be chasing..."

He didn't know what he was really expecting – it was only a matter of time. Muting the film, he gave Sherlock a look, followed closely by a playful shove with his foot. "Maybe I wanted to find that out for myself?"

Sherlock just nudged his leg in return, smirking at him. "Come on - it was obvious! Look at the way he's acting around them. Over compensating with the 'relaxed and oblivious' body language-"

"It wasn't obvious to me," John grumbled, sinking into the cushions. Rolling his eyes, albeit playfully, Sherlock reached over, and turned the sound back on, his hand touching Johns very briefly. "I'll try and be quiet. Promise"

While he doubted Sherlock would keep to his word, John went back to the movie, trying to see how the man in the gray suit could be the bad guy. He couldn't have been; at least, he didn't see how it was possible. Although, this was a prime example of why Sherlock didn't go to the cinema much anymore; a truly original, clever movie was so painfully rare. And the last time he went, John got angry at him anyway. He knew the look on Johns face, but for once, he kept his mouth closed. The temptation to relieve his friend's curiosity was almost overwhelming, however, and this wasn't lost on his companion. He knew Sherlock had already worked out the ending. And he was just dying to let John know; it was painted all over him. Turning the telly off, John straightened up, stretching his arms above his head.

"This isn't fun."

"What..?"

"You aren't having fun, and I can tell you aren't enjoying yourself. So, what do you want to do?" John crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Sherlock expectantly. For once he almost felt guilty. Almost being the key word, but he still wasn't sure what John was expecting him to say.

"I was fine doing that. I don't care what we do, John, as long as we're doing something"

"If you want to watch telly, just relax. I can't believe I'm telling you to relax while we do one of the most relaxing things, but you have to! Got it?"

"What makes you think I wasn't relaxed..? I felt fine. I am fine."

"I could feel you knowing who did it," John pointed out, chewing his lip.

"You could feel me knowing?" that actually made him smile a little. "Should I apologize?"

"No," John muttered, falling back to rest his head on the arm of the sofa. "Just think of something fun to do."

"Well, I'm afraid this is where I fall short. Most things I call fun you'd find horrifically dull." After thinking for a moment, "We could just talk?"

"If you want," John replied. With a smirk, Sherlock brought both his knees up, turning to face John fully as he rested his chin on one of the arms he had wrapped around himself. "I could just talk at you until you fall asleep. See if your theory is correct"

Sitting up John mimicked Sherlock's position, resting his chin on his knees, he stuck his tongue out childishly.

"Maybe you should."

"So funny, John, really." he shot back with a smirk. "How're thing's with Harry?"

"That's what you go to?" John chuckled, tapping on his knees. "She's fine. Drunk all the time, dropped out of Uni. How's Mycroft?"

"Angry. Doesn't like the fact our parents are separating. Makes for a wonderfully tense household." Although the smirk remained, his head lowered into the crook of his arm. "Aren't families lovely..." There was a pause, before John replied, his voice soft.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"How are you doing?" He looked at John, soon realizing what he meant, by which point he just averted his eyes to anything but his friend.

"Fine. Dad doesn't seem to care either way, so why should I?" his own voice quickly became quiet and reserved; this wasn't a comfortable topic for him, but John was the only one he really spoke to about...well…anything, anymore.

"I'm here to listen if you ever need to talk – you know that right?" Although Sherlock didn't make a habit of talking about how he felt, John at least needed to know that his friend was aware that he was there for him.

"I know…" It was only a few minutes before he spoke again, a little hesitantly, but eventually the words became easier to share. "Mycroft...he doesn't talk to me. Not much, not any more. He blames me for it, you know. All of it…" John opened his mouth, but had no idea what to say at first. He didn't know the details of the Holmes divorce. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but it was clearly weighing on Sherlock.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not like him, I suppose. He thinks I do nothing to help the situation; says I'm 'too indifferent' or that I don't care…and that, because of this, that mum doesn't think I care either. Apparently it just adds stress to everything. In a way, I wish I could just pretend like him, but why should I have to? It's not up to me if our parents stay together, I don't have a choice…so why should I waste energy pretending I can do anything" That had very rapidly evolved from a simple conversation to a small rant. But, despite the fact he could feel himself getting emotional; it did feel a little better.

Uncurling himself, he shifted himself over to be nearer to Sherlock, placing a hand on Sherlock's knee, covering Sherlock's fingers.

"Pretending isn't always best, Sherlock. You didn't pretend just then. I'm glad you didn't. You need to let some things go, let some things out. I'm glad you are the way you are."

"Well, that makes one person I suppose." he replies, his tone meant to be dry but instead just came out as a whisper. He didn't want to lift his head in case it became obvious he was crying. He hated crying. Crying was for children and for people couldn't get a hold of themselves. But for some reason, opening up like this caused that as the result. The feeling of Johns hand on his makes him feel a little better, though he refrains from actually holding his hand. He made things awkward enough for John as it was; that didn't need to be on the list.

"A person you care about," John murmured, pulling Sherlock into an embrace, petting his hair. He couldn't be sure if Sherlock was crying or not, not that it mattered anyway.

"I'll always prefer you to a brainwashed version of you that only says what you think is supposed to be said."

This was one of the numerous reasons why Sherlock liked John; he was both completely predictable, and not at all. He didn't expect to be pulled into a hug, nor did he foresee feeling fingertips in his hair...it felt good. Nice. He didn't know why...but it did. But at the same time, it made the urge to cry properly that much stronger. He went to say something - thank him, perhaps? But all that came out is a small, choked sob. It was completely humiliating, and yet, it felt liberating. Crying on his best friend...what was he? Seven?

It was startling, Sherlock crying. He'd never heard his friend cry before. Didn't know he could cry. All he could do was rock back and forth gently, rubbing his hands down his back. "It's all right." Sherlock tried to stop - several times, in fact, but it just kept coming out- it felt as though he'd been saving up tears since he was a kid and it was all just being released now. He wanted to pull away, to pull himself together, do something that wasn't this. But he couldn't. It'd been so long since someone had hugged him, held him, told him it was all alright, that some part of him kept him rooted. John meant safety, meant loyalty, and meant 'feeling better'. And that was being proved for the millionth time during their friendship. Eventually, he calmed down enough to offer a hoarse apology. "I'm sorry. I know this is pathetic"

At the other end of the spectrum, John enjoyed the feel of Sherlock in his arms. He enjoyed being the bigger one, the protective one. It wasn't a role he often got to play. Leaning down, John reaches in to tilt Sherlock's face up, brushing away the hot tears. "It's all right," he repeated, pressing his lips to Sherlock's head in comfort.

"It's all right to be pathetic once in a while. You've earned it."

Sherlock just laughed a little, letting John touch his face, show him affection; God only knew he was the only one he'd consider receiving it from.

"Just because I've earned it, doesn't mean I enjoy it."

"It's not enjoyable, being vulnerable," he murmured. "But it's something we all feel, mate. It's okay to be vulnerable if you let it rush over you. You don't have to feel it all the time. Just when you need to."

"I don't always know when I should be." he replied quietly, wiping a hand under his eyes, before leaning back into John. "That's what Mycroft can't understand; I care, I just...I don't always know what to do about it."

"Mycroft doesn't need to understand. You feel the way you do, it's none of his business to judge or be upset. I know you care, Sherlock. I know you do. Just because you don't show it all the time doesn't make that any less true." Taking Sherlock's cheeks in his hands, he let his thumbs graze over the sharp cheekbones. He just closed his eyes for a moment, liking the feeling of John's hands on his face - enjoying the feeling of security that came with the action. And as always, John managed to say just the right thing, just the right way. Letting his eyes open again, he blinked away a few more excess tears, smiling with a little more ease this time. Nodding in encouragement, John pulled Sherlock in for another hug, his arms around Sherlock's neck tight.

"Feel better?" In return, he wrapped his own arms around his friend, returning the embrace sincerely. He nodded meekly into Johns shoulder, inhaling his scent, committing it to memory.

"Yes...much..."

"Good," after a minute, he pulled away, looking down at Sherlock. "And look at you, you look like a real person. Crying and all." Smiling, he runs his fingers over Sherlock's hair. "I'm proud."

"Oh, shut up..." came his response, in as playful a tone as he could conjure. Wiping his eyes properly, he all but nuzzled Johns hand - he maybe couldn't understand footsie, but hair playing he could definitely get behind.

"Though I'm not so sure that's something to be proud of." John grinned and leaned back, scootching back from Sherlock.

"I think it is. I've never seen you cry before. And you let me hold you. That's two major steps in one short little time period. I'm very impressed."

"Alright, alright. Don't expect me to make a habit out of it."

John just stuck out a foot to nudge Sherlock's, the grin still in place. "Let's hope not. It's not like it helps you feel better or anything, God forbid." Sherlock nudged straight back in return, his smile becoming a little more permanent.

"Yes, well – now that that's out of the way, I can go back to focusing on other things. More important things"

"Such as…?" John tilted his chin up, liking the smile on Sherlock's face.

"I don't know...the violin...'wasting' your time more often."

"Waste away," John said, leaning back into his hands. Sherlock just laughed a little; it was true - he did feel better. Much better, in fact. Sod 'feeling selfish' - the fact that John had spent most of his date texting him, and had vouched to spend the rest of his night at his house, meant more to Sherlock than he'd care to admit. Shay could go and be a great kisser with someone else; for now, he was the one enjoying Johns company. He wouldn't have called it jealousy, as such…it was just a waste knowing Johns company was, in turn, being wasted on moronic girls who didn't know which way was up.

"Are you tired at all..? I just noticed the time" Turning his attention to the wall clock, John shuddered, imagining the day he'd have tomorrow. Fuck it - He wouldn't be going to sleep anyway. Shaking his head, he smirked.

"Nah, it's too late. I'll stay up with you. Assuming you don't want to sleep."

"You assume correctly" pushing himself off of the sofa, Sherlock adjusted his dressing gown a little. "Would you like some tea? Might as well make staying up a little easier. Well, for you anyway" John just stretched out on the sofa, placing his feet in the place Sherlock had just occupied. "I'd love some. You know how I take it."

"Yes. Alright - I'll be back through in a minute" and so, he padded off towards the kitchen. He was tired, but not as much as should have been. He hadn't been sleeping well for some time now, though it didn't bother him. Gave him more time to think. Several minutes passed before he returned to the sitting room with a tray, carrying two sets of cups and saucers, as well as the usual milk, sugar, and tea pot. One cup is already filled, which he motioned for John to take.

"Thank you," John said as he sat forward, eagerly taking the cup off the tray, holding it in his hands. He'd never really considered Sherlock a best friend. It was nice having him around, it was nice being able to talk with him, to laugh, to cry. Which prompted his next comment; "You know you mean a lot to me," he murmured before taking a sip of his tea.

Sherlock very nearly missed the cup as he went to pour his own drink; he had assumed they were done with the emotional talk – obviously not. But, he does reply, fairly rapidly in fact. "The feeling is mutual, I assure you." That was all he could manage at first, though even to him that sounded a little too formal. So after a slow, slightly awkward pause, he added; "…really, John. You're the only friend I've had. I...value you. Very highly..." That did not come out as well as intended, nor as 'normal sounding' as he would have liked. Suddenly, the tea became the most interesting thing in the room.

John just smiled at that, swirling the contents in his cup. He hadn't noticed that he hadn't put any milk or sugar in it until the strong aftertaste hit him. Making a face, he reached out to the little milk container, pouring himself enough to make the tea a nice coffee colour.

"I'm glad you feel that way. Hey!" John nudged Sherlock with his foot. Again. It was becoming too enjoyable. "You okay?"

"Yes - fine." said with a returned foot nudge. He wasn't sure why John kept doing that - it wasn't annoying, but he still didn't understand it. Sipping his tea, he watched his friends foot, trying to judge if and when he was planning on doing it again. Keeping his eye on Sherlock, John smiled, sipping his now drinkable tea.

"Good," he replied softly, rubbing his foot over Sherlock's lightly – an action that was met with no protest whatsoever. As it stood lately, he wasn't sure how he felt about John - not really. He knew he was most likely confusing feelings of strong friendship with feelings of romance, thus he ignored them. John was busy dating girls and putting up with him on the side. Sherlock was busy playing the violin. That was how it was meant to be. Not necessarily how he wanted it, but hey. He's reminded of their previous conversation - about playing footsie, about how it 'obviously couldn't feel nice'. John confused him at the best of times; this was one of those times. He returned his friends smile easily, and, being mindful not to move his foot too much, he slouches back in his chair. After a moment, he wriggled his toes. In turn, John wasn't sure if he should pull away or not, but considering Sherlock's reaction, he may as well enjoy the feeling while it lasted. Running his feet over Sherlock's, feeling that exciting little trill he had felt with Shay earlier that evening…he couldn't help but smile as his heart skipped a beat.

"What are you thinking about?"

"You" Sherlock replied, bluntly, but lightly. "I don't understand you. Not really, not all the time...and I do mean that in the best way possible" he nodded down at their feet.

"That, for example...you said earlier that you do that, and imagine you're touching the person in other places with other things…" after another mouthful of tea. "If that's the case, how would you rather be touching me right now?" Sherlock would be surprised at how he said that with a straight face, whilst looking directly at John, but it was a skill he tended to pride himself on. As expected, John's eyebrows shot up as a flush rapidly filled his cheeks. Looking away from Sherlock, he pulled his feet back up under him.

"I didn't…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just like…" he looks back up to Sherlock, getting lost, "…to feel good. And that feels good."

"I wasn't uncomfortable - I actually...I liked it." trying to get John to relax again, Sherlock smiled gently, "It did feel good" He put his cup down, even though it's very nearly finished as it is. Swallowing thickly, John thought about his answer, eventually offering up a reply in a quiet voice; "…Your hair. I want to touch your hair." Steepling his fingers and pressing the tips to his chin, after a moment, Sherlock presented him with another question;

"Why don't you, then? I didn't mind before. Therefore it's a more than fair assumption that I'll like it even more when I'm not crying all over you" Clearing his throat, Johns set his mug down, crawling over to Sherlock. Not quite sure how to go about it, John reached his hands out, warm from the tea, and - much to Sherlock's expected delight - placed them against his dark curls. Eventually making eye contact again, John pushed his fingers through the hair, smiling at the feeling. "Is this all right?"

Sherlock couldn't help but close his eyes briefly, moving his head ever so slightly in time with Johns fingers.

"Mmm..yes.." They were lovely and warm, and after a minute or so of Sherlock deciding this was a very good idea, he was shifting himself so he was wedged between John's legs, using his chest as a backrest, fully intending to enjoy the sensations running across his scalp to the fullest. John could only go along with the switch in positions, lifting his hands until Sherlock was settled. He was warm and solid, he smelled nice and had soft hair. If John hadn't known any better, he'd say it was a girl between his legs. That was really the only reason he allowed himself to acknowledge for why he hasn't shoved Sherlock off him yet. As the minutes ticked by, Sherlock could have very happily fallen asleep here, like this. For a few seconds after he'd decided to shift things around, he was worried that John would stop, would react badly, or push him away. But he didn't; he just adjusted himself a little, and carried on. For a while, it was quiet between them; not awkward, just...nice, calm quiet. Quiet that either could easily break, but could just as happily sit in for a while longer. Sherlock's hand found Johns knee, long fingers tracing small shapes through his jeans.

He had to fight the urge to succumb to the drowsiness that was creeping through his system, though when he feels Sherlock's light fingers through his jeans, he wanted to stay awake if only to preserve the moment a little longer. Eventually, he rested his head back against the sofa arm, his eyes drifting shut, but his hands remained on Sherlock's head. "…ve you," he murmured, not really hearing or paying attention to his own words. In turn, Sherlock's eyes opened lazily, not sure what he heard his friend say. The fingers teasing the wild curls seemed to have slowed right down, so Sherlock reached up, taking one of the hands in his own. By now, he wasn't questioning what he did or said; this had been a night of unexpected things and actions.

"Hmm..?" he could tell John was tired - he couldn't blame him. But he would have liked to know what he said, before he fell asleep and lost the memory of saying anything at all. John's eyes remained closed, though he did give the hand holding his a little squeeze. "I love you," he repeated a little louder, his head not sure how to translate the emotion with it. Platonic or romantic? It didn't really matter to John. As long as Sherlock was there, as long as he stayed still in John's lap. Without another word, he leaned his head down to kiss the crown of Sherlock's head. As clichéd as it sounded, Sherlock could have sworn he felt his heart stop momentarily. His grip on Johns hand tightened ever so slightly; how did he mean it? If he really meant it at all...he was tired, after all. He could have been talking in his sleep- and there was the butterfly kiss, placed in his hair, sure to get lost. So...John wasn't sleeping...that narrowed it down to two possibilities. And Sherlock, being Sherlock, had to know. He moved himself around so that he was facing John, now pretty much chest to chest with his friend.

"What do you mean? No...How do you mean?" his tone wasn't accusing; simply enquiring.

"Hm?" It was then that John let his eyelids flutter open, barely registering the shift in Sherlock's position. Running his fingers over Sherlock's cheeks, his nose, his forehead, John smiled to himself sleepily.

"How do I mean what?"

"What you just said; how did you mean it? You said that you loved me. I have to know" the feeling of having Johns hands on his face again, it's distracting, to say the least. Reaching up, he pulled Johns hands away momentarily as he repeated himself again softly.

"How did you mean it."

Now a little more awake, John knows that he won't be left to sleep until he gives Sherlock what he wants. He knew he meant what he said and just how he meant it, though Sherlock demanding answers wasn't much of an indication of whether or not he reciprocated the feelings. Sherlock always needed data.

This time, however, his answer wasn't verbal. Leaning forward, he just pressed his lips against Sherlock's gently, his hands moving around his head, threading through the mess of curls. And there it was; one of the many things Sherlock has never shared with another person until now. At first, he had no idea what he should do, but the hand in his hair helps him relax into it a little more. As it turns out, kissing was easy; not only that, but it felt lovely; Sherlock was quickly starting to understand why John was so hung up about how Shay had done this to him, because frankly, it was giving him butterflies like you wouldn't believe. His lips tingled, his skin flushed pink as his hands went their separate ways; one on Johns chest & down his side, the other on the side of his face. And while John hadn't been one hundred percent that Sherlock would reciprocate, he had the answer he had been hoping for. Hooking his leg behind Sherlock's knees, he pulled him closer, deepening the kiss with an open mouth. He's unsure whether Sherlock is used to kissing and there's a nagging bit of him that says he's Sherlock's first. Trying to lose himself in the lazy slide of mouths, John's mind went blank, his only senses that work are touch and taste. And that's all he really needs.

This wasn't some romantic novel moment – he hadn't been pining after his best friend for months, hadn't planned this out. It had happened naturally; no planning needed. He'd never thought about whether or not he was gay before, then again, he doubted he was – he was still attracted to girls after all. Bisexual? Again, a little doubtful; he'd never looked at another guy twice before now. Who knows about this stuff; the only thing that really mattered was how good it felt at that moment.

As for Sherlock, 'electric' was only one of the many ways he could describe this drawn out moment. Exciting, new, long awaited…there weren't enough adjectives to adequately portray how Sherlock felt. He was just about to move forward anyway, when John's leg gave him the extra incentive. He followed John's lead with how he should be moving his lips, how much, how little, how open or closed. He did break away momentarily, breathless but smiling, before he placed a smaller kiss on the side of John's mouth, and again on his cheek. He wanted to kiss him everywhere, and it's only when he reached his temple that he returned to his lips again, a little more confident this time around.

Melting under Sherlock's growing confidence, John can hardly do anything, hardly move, as Sherlock kissed his cheek, his temple. It is hard to quell the beating of his heart, as he felt it will beat right out of his chest if he's not careful. But he doesn't care about careful at the moment. He wants Sherlock to know how important he is, how much he matters. And while it may be only to one person now, that could change over time. John enjoyed having Sherlock cry earlier, but he didn't want Sherlock to release that sort of emotion anymore if it meant he would feel alone and friendless. John will do anything for Sherlock to know how much he means to John. His hands slide down Sherlock's back, rubbing in small circles.

If there was ever a time that Sherlock had felt uniquely loved, it was now. Because of his rather individual personality, he had come to realize he wasn't all that normal at a very early age. His parents were good at what they did, but they could only really understand him to an extent. His brother was the eldest, he knew how to make them happy - he wanted to. While Sherlock just…didn't. He had never really seen the point in impressing people who didn't seem bothered.

Then John had happened. John, all unassuming and normal and kind, and everything was turned upside down. Now he was here, on top of him, kissing him and thanking nobody in particular that they had decided against sleep. After what felt like hours, Sherlock pulled away again, curious eyes wide and alight with an emotion he couldn't quite label. His voice came out as a loud, excited whisper. "...Good?"

John lay back, almost lifeless, his ragged breathing and glittering eyes the only things giving him away. "It was very good. You are very good." A content smile spread across now unoccupied lips.

"Good…John..." Sherlock reached a hand up to cover the one touching his face. "I'm glad you're here, and I'm happy you're my friend. I don't tell you enough, but I am," after a slightly deeper inhale. "and...I think I love you. I think I have for a long time." John shut his eyes, feeling Sherlock's hand upon his. He was surprisingly warm; gentle…John hadn't any idea that Sherlock could be so gentle. It was a good way to describe him, when he wasn't hyped up about some mystery or other. When he was at his experiments, he had the hands of a surgeon - precise, but cautious. As for what John said next, those weren't words Sherlock ever thought he'd hear; 'I've always cared deeply for you'. He didn't know what John counted as now, but those were technicalities that could be worked out later.

Until then, the two boys soon fell back into sleep, soaking up each others warmth, and only waking later that day when the front door slammed shut, and Sherlock's father called out to find out who was home. They barely managed to scramble off of one another before he came through, and managed to save face until he left the room once again, expressions folding into childish snickers.


End file.
